Missing you
by The Boeshane Babe
Summary: Set after S1 when Jack has left. A bereft Ianto seeks solace in sex and drugs and rock'n'roll


(Set after the end of S1 where Jack has left with The Doctor)

**Missing you**

I haven't felt obliged to write my journal of late. I've been in a bad place…

I never thought I could feel as lost again; nearly as lost as when Lisa was killed. Jack has disappeared and we know not where and I haven't coped with it well. Correction – I haven't coped with it at all. I don't know if he's gone for good and now I realise how emotionally dependent on him I've become. I never meant for this to happen…and I'd like to blame Jack in part for that. He knew how damaged I was after Lisa, and the business with the cannibals nearly tipped me over the edge, but Jack made it clear that I could always rely on him, to talk to, as a shoulder to cry on. He made me reliant on him and now he's gone.

I haven't coped but the others don't really know. For the first few days it was quite a weird feeling in the Hub, almost as if we all expected Jack to saunter back in at any moment. I think Gwen, Tosh and Owen all miss him in their own way but they've adapted. Gwen has taken it upon herself to take command. This probably isn't a bad thing – Tosh, bless her, is too ineffectual and Owen is too brash and thoughtless. Gwen and Tosh have both given me a sympathetic smile and asked if I'm ok but I've shrugged and told them I'm fine. I've tried to keep busy as much as I can as well. The problem is the downtime. I almost wish that we had some emergency going on so that it would give me something to concentrate on. The strange thing is, I've always been ok with my own company…but not now. Jack haunts me. I stripped the bedding off but when I go to sleep I can still smell him…fucking 51st century pheromones. For the first week after Jack left when I got home at night I'd get so drunk on vodka that I'd virtually pass out. That was infinitely better than sobbing myself to sleep. Pathetic, eh? – No one, no woman, not even my Lisa ever got to me like this…

After a week or so things got worse - vodka and melancholy tears gave way to anger at Jack. How dare you draw me in, make me dependent on you, for goodness sake you even kissed me in front of the others and then fuck off straight after? How the hell do you think that makes me feel? Confused, bereft….you screw with people, Harkness. At work as always the mask slipped into place and I was the cool efficient Ianto they expected me to be while at home I was a raging spitting animal, finally deciding that I hated Jack for leaving and that I didn't need him. I determined I was going to forget the bastard and I was going to enjoy myself. Now I'm actually wincing at my version of 'enjoying myself' just recently. In a way I want to blank out what I did but another part of me wants to put on record as to how much of a mess I was, as to how much I lost it.

At work I tried to hide my hangovers. A couple of times Owen asked if I was on something – I don't know whether he was just being his usual sarky self or, being a doctor, that he guessed about the amphetamines still coursing through my system.

Any free evening I was out clubbing. I mean here I am, a young single man in his twenties, aren't I supposed to be out having fun like this at the weekend? I got it into my head that I had been too much of a buttoned-up self-righteous prick up until now; the good boy who went to uni and got a First, got hired to work for Torchwood One and then Torchwood Three in the mundane role of researcher/archivist…and what am I, barely twenty four? I'd played it straight right down the line so far, even down to Lisa being the sweetest girlfriend who you would be only too happy to introduce to your mother. Ok…maybe not so straight in one way…I've been having a gay affair with my boss haven't I….but you get my drift, I've been a bit of a boring knob. Now that my bastard lover had just left without a word, I could just enjoy myself a bit. A bit? – I couldn't come home without being falling down drunk or as high as a fucking kite. That was when I actually got home…or remembered doing so.

Sometimes in the midst of it all, seemingly no matter how completely smashed I was, in the middle of a club dance floor I'd have a sudden moment of remembering Jack, thinking of him, almost wishing he would appear across the dance floor. In my pain of remembering and in some twisted lust, I'd just hone in on whoever I fancied. Yes, the Ianto Jones method of having fun including incredible feats of binge drinking, doing assorted drugs and casual fucking around. I don't want to even know your name or get your number…you're just a shag…like I was to that bastard, Harkness. Sometimes, probably due to the alcohol, I ended up a bit of a mess and understandably on my own…like the time I woke up in a vomit-stained T-shirt curled around the pedestal of my own toilet one morning.

Other times, well I guess I am cute in the right light and I wanted to prove it, prove that I was desirable. There were lots of snogs in dark corners – mostly girls, a couple of guys – and of course, the casual shags. I have vague memories of a well stacked giggly girl on the back seat of her car, sneaking out of a skinny blonde girl's bed in the early hours, a tough talking muscle guy in an alleyway…oh and a stunning blonde guy in the toilets of a club. Those were the ones I remembered. The blonde guy I found a little disturbing – his eyes reminded me of Jack's – but it wasn't disturbing for more than a minute or so…perhaps because he reminded me, it felt exciting…and lets face it quickies in club toilets are exciting purely because it is so cheap and sordid; not so much shut your eyes and think of England as shut your eyes and think of Jack… it worked for me. And then…and then lust sated you zip up and head back to the dance floor just like that. Oh yes, Ianto Jones you are fucking incredible! Both men and women fancy you and you can take your pick. That's one thing you can give credit to Jack for; the original man-whore himself taught you that gender doesn't matter as far as sex is concerned. Yes Jack, I've been a damn good protégée and now I'm putting it out there – your loss.

Did any of this make me feel better? – Of course it bloody didn't. You know why? - Because it wasn't me. I've never really liked clubs and that whole scene…it was just a means to an end. I woke up feeling like crap and would haul my sorry ass to work. Did I have good memories of 'fun' times the night before? – No. It all seemed so shallow and meaningless. My heavy drinking – trying to obliterate the maudlin me. My drug taking – trying to escape myself. The casual shags – trying to prove with anyone who even smiled at me that I was worth something. I felt wretched.

Then I had reason to feel doubly wretched – I had to confide in Owen as Torchwood's medic and ask him to test me for STDs since I'd been completely unthinkingly stupid having unprotected sex with aforementioned casual shags. Previously I'd been sexually faithful to an immortal who couldn't catch things or be a carrier…but what on earth was I thinking? I really thought Owen would make a huge joke out of my consulting him; I hated having to tell him. However, to my complete surprise, he couldn't have been nicer. I think he understood that my sudden sexual proclivities were as a result of Jack leaving me and not normal behaviour and he was actually very kind and sympathetic. Maybe it was because Owen has been a serial shagger himself and I know that underneath all that bluff that he does have a heart…and a rather wounded one at that.

Owen and I got through the excruciatingly awkward moments by his funny quips to lighten the atmosphere – not a sarcastic barb in sight thankfully. After embarrassing questions like 'Men or women?' (both), 'Top or bottom?' (top mostly, but not exclusively) and the doctor's lecture about sexual health that he felt obliged to give, it was down to blood tests, swabs and examinations. Despite myself I couldn't help a slight smile at Owen's 'amusing' asides – "This is the first and last time I hope I ever have to say this Jones…but drop 'em," "My god, that's impressive. I can see why you kept Jack happy," "Ok, this may sting a bit...sorry…I lied," and "Please don't get over excited Teaboy, but turn around and bend over slightly."

To counter any remaining awkwardness after the patient-doctor interlude, Owen suggested we go for a pint. For an hour or so I was probably the most relaxed I've been in ages. Owen and I are never going to be best buddies but it was good to sit together in a pub and quietly talk about work over a beer. Owen admitted that he still felt Jack's absence was very strange; he was a bit miffed that Gwen had taken charge ("Always a bossy cow, that one") and he, like me, felt an uncertainty about what we were supposed to do with Torchwood long-term if the boss never came back. Finally after three pints we went for a chicken kebab and sat on a bench eating while we watched the late night drunks rolling home. At last we went our separate ways in different directions with strict instructions from Owen about "No shagging on your way home." He reached in his jacket pocket and threw me a packet of condoms, "Of if you must, bloody use these you troll!"

I've been stupid but maybe I needed to cut loose, needed to go a bit mad or I'd have ended up hitting my head against a brick wall. I've found out – aside from the bedroom – that I am a bit of a self-righteous prick who plays the game and keeps everything neat and tidy and ordered and just so. But I can't be something I'm not can I? – Yeah I can have a few drinks and have fun but I'm not a party animal, a compulsive thrill-seeker, someone who has to be drugged up and sleep around to have a good time. That's not me…it's never been me. Jack never wanted me to be anyone but myself – he liked me for me and I suppose occasionally made fun in a nice way about my buttoned-up nature. He knows the other side of me though…I'm not always like that in private. Knows? – Knew - must stop talking in the present tense. Oh fuck it, I love Jack, I miss him like hell and at odd moments when I switch off various bits of me ache for him so much. I almost cuddle myself to sleep or else I know I won't sleep…I've got used to that body next to me….not just any body, the body of the man I love.

I'm over the worst though. Like Owen, Tosh and Gwen I'll carry on with Torchwood in our boss' absence and hope, like them, that Jack will come back. I barely want to admit it in case it tempts fate, but part of me says surely he can't just leave the organisation just like that and never come back? I wait, I carry on, I hope. Of course if he does return who knows what the situation will be – things may be completely different, but I don't want to think about that right now.

I'll carry on as his Yan, as how he would expect…like some bloody faithful Labrador waiting for his master. I will try and get out a bit and socialise now and then so I'm not a completely sad muppet, but I'm not looking for anyone else. There's only one person who has my heart…his name is Jack Harkness….and I'm going to wait until he comes back…however long that takes….


End file.
